Chapter 23
The autumn rain in Hangzhou, lingering like a lover's tears, dripped down, leaving the bluestone pavement glistening and slippery. The bloody stench of the canal had long since been washed away by the relentless rain and fog, leaving only the lingering fragrance of osmanthus permeating the city, mingled with moisture and the hustle and bustle of the city, lingering in the damp, cold air.
Deep in the back alley of the prefectural yamen, a small, unassuming black lacquer door sat tightly shut. Atop the door hung a wooden sign, damp and illegible with rainwater, reading "Chen's Funeral Ceremony." This was the domain of Old Man Chen, Hangzhou's top coroner. On ordinary days, aside from yamen runners carrying unclaimed corpses in and out, the alley was deserted. But today, the alley's entrance was silently guarded by several men in straw raincoats, their demeanor as heavy as stone, their cold eyes sweeping over every passerby who approached.
The morgue was cold and damp. Even the heavy smell of lime and herbs couldn't suppress the faint stench of corpses. A few oil lamps hung in the corners, their dim light flickering and distorting the figures.
A heavy cypress table was covered with a thick oilcloth, beneath which lay the charred and mangled body of the "dumb servant" who had been brought from a wrecked canal boat.
Old man Chen was hunched over, his hair and beard all white, his face wrinkled so deeply they could pinch a fly to death. His hands, however, were remarkably steady, their knuckles thick and covered in calluses and tiny scars. He was using a knife as thin as a willow leaf and gleaming silver, meticulously cleaning the tiny suture marks along the edge of the corpse's right cheek. Beside him, Mo Ya's left arm was splinted and wrapped in blood-soaked cloth. His face was pale, but his fixed gaze was fixed on Old Man Chen's hand. Gu Linzhi stood to the side, his hands behind his back. His dark uniform blended seamlessly into the shadows in the dim light, leaving only his deep eyes, like a cold pond, reflecting the flickering light of the oil lamp.
The air was stagnant, with only the subtle rustling sound of a knife scraping across crispy flesh and the crackling of a burning oil lamp.
"Tsk..." A gleam of light flashed in Old Man Chen's cloudy old eyes. He put down the knife, picked up a slender silver tweezers, gently clamped one end of the suture thread, and pulled it out extremely slowly and cautiously.
The thread was pulled out bit by bit, leaving behind charred scraps of flesh. As the sutures peeled away, a clear seam began to appear along the edge of the right cheek, which had been forcibly pieced together! Beneath the seam, what was revealed wasn't the wound that had been stitched together, but... another layer of skin of a completely different color!
Old Man Chen held his breath, his movements becoming even gentler. He switched to a smaller tool, like the most delicate embroidery needle, and carefully peeled away the adhered tissue along the gap. Time slipped by, and the light of the oil lamp seemed to dim.
finally!
“Hiss…”
A slight but hair-raising tearing sound was heard.
Old man Chen used tweezers to pinch the charred and curled "skin" and slowly peeled it off!
Under the dim light, an extremely weird and disgusting scene appeared before everyone's eyes!
The right side of the corpse's face was still charred, twisted, and carbonized from the explosion and flames, resembling a demonic ghost. However, the left side... was in an almost eerie state of pristine condition!
The skin on the left side of his face was fair and delicate, even possessing a youthful radiance. This contrast with the horrific burn marks on the right side was a startling, almost mortal contrast. This side of his face had soft lines, a straight nose, and thin, distinct lips. If it weren't framed by the charred corpse, this side would almost be considered handsome. But now, on this intact left cheek, the eyes were open, vacant, the pupils already dilated, frozen in a state of deathly terror and bewilderment.
"Painted Skin... It really is 'Painted Skin'!" Old Man Chen's voice was hoarse and dry, filled with the shock of someone who had seen life and death before. "Another face... sewn on! Covering up the original face! This method... is sinister! Evil! It takes great willpower and great pain to endure! This 'Painted Skin' technique of the Snow Spider Pavilion... actually exists!"
The muscles on Mo Ya's rigid face twitched violently, and the wound on his left arm seemed to ache slightly. He stared at the "yin-yang face" that was half charred evil ghost and half handsome and intact, and felt a chill running up his spine.
Gu Linzhi's gaze was as calm as water. He took a step forward, approaching the cypress platform. His deep eyes, like a probe, carefully examined the intact left half of the face. His fingertips vaguely traced the clear outline in the air.
"This isn't just any skin." His voice was low, cold with certainty. "This skin has an owner. This face... has roots."
His gaze shifted downward, landing on the spot on the corpse's neck where the human skin mask had been removed, revealing the Snow Spider brand. The hideous mark of the poisonous insect was still clear. His fingertips gently brushed over a tiny, old scar at the edge of the brand, not yet completely covered by the scorch marks. The scar had a unique shape, resembling a shallow crescent.
"Mr. Chen." Gu Linzhi's voice was calm and steady. "Please take a look at this scar."
Old man Chen came closer, his cloudy old eyes almost touching it, carefully identifying it. After a moment, he took a breath and looked up suddenly, his eyes full of disbelief!
"This... is this a 'Crescent Hook'?! It's the unique golden needle scar-cutting technique of Mr. Bai Songnian of the Bai family of Huichuntang in Hangzhou! He uses acupuncture to save lives, especially for serious head injuries, sealing blood vessels with golden needles. His unique technique occasionally leaves behind these tiny crescent-shaped needle marks! There's no mistaking it! In all of Jiangnan, only the Bai family possesses this skill!"
"The Bai family of Huichuntang?" A cold glint flashed in Mo Ya's eyes. "They are the foremost doctors in Hangzhou Prefecture, three generations of doctors, saving countless lives and possessing an extremely high reputation! How could a member of their family... become a core assassin of the Beidi Snow Spider Pavilion? And... even use such a sinister 'painted skin' technique?"
Gu Linzhi's fingertips lingered on the crescent scar, but his gaze had penetrated the cold walls of the morgue and fell into the misty depths of Hangzhou City.
"True and false, false and true. The art of painted skin can not only conceal the face, but also... replace the soul." He withdrew his hand, his voice as cold as ice. "Check. How many children does Bai Songnian have? Especially... in the past two years, have any nephews or nieces died suddenly of illness, gone away to study, or... undergone a drastic change in appearance or temperament?"
Raindrops dart against the delicately carved window lattices of Ningxiang Garden. This three-story riverside pavilion is Hangzhou's most famous den of indulging in extravagance. Even by day, it appears tranquil and elegant, the faint sounds of stringed instruments lingering, carrying the lingering, melancholic air of the Jiangnan region. Two exquisite glazed palace lanterns hang by the doorway, their shades painted with vivid wisteria blossoms, casting a soft, hazy glow through the mist.
On the second floor, overlooking the river, lies an elegant pavilion, named "Tengluo Residence." As the door gently closes, a delicate, almost imperceptible fragrance of wisteria wafts out, refreshing the soul. The interior is elegant and refined, a stark contrast to the gaudy décor of ordinary brothels. A guqin, its body glossy black and spotless, sits by the window. Hanging on the wall is a vibrant, ink-drenched freehand painting of wisteria, its vines tangled and its blossoms cascading. On a small rosewood table by the window, a wisp of smoke curls from a celadon-glazed incense burner with an ice-crack pattern. It is from this very spot that the intoxicating wisteria fragrance originates.
A woman in a simple, elegant moon-white skirt stood with her back to the door, leaning over to stir the ashes in the incense burner. She had a slender figure, a long, fair neck, and her dark hair was loosely tied up, adorned with a silver hairpin. She wore no other ornaments. Her silhouette alone exuded a serene and gentle grace.
“Squeak—”
The door to the elegant pavilion was gently pushed open. Mo Ya appeared in the doorway, his left arm in a sling, his face still pale, but his rigid demeanor had softened somewhat. His sharp gaze swept the room. His gaze lingered for a moment on the guqin by the window, the wisteria painting on the wall, and the curling incense burner, finally settling on the simple, elegant figure.
Hearing the voice, the woman slowly turned around.
A face of unrivalled beauty caught Mo Ya's eye. Her eyebrows were as dark as distant mountains, her eyes were like autumn water, her nose was delicate and her lips were rosy, her skin whiter than snow. Her temperament was as gentle as water, her eyes were clear and penetrating, with a touch of just the right amount of surprise and inquiry, like a jade from a secluded boudoir, naive and unworldly. It was none other than Su Wanwan, the renowned courtesan of Hangzhou.
"Sir..." Su Wanwan's voice was as soft and pleasant as pearls falling on a jade plate, with a hint of the softness unique to the Jiangnan water towns. "But we've come to the wrong place? Wanwan... doesn't have any guests today."
Mo Ya's gaze lingered on her face for a moment, and he spoke in a rigid tone, his voice cold and hard, "I'm here to investigate a case, Mr. Su. I'm sorry to bother you. I'll ask you a few questions, and then I'll leave."
A hint of understanding and helplessness flashed across Su Wanwan's eyes just right. She nodded slightly with an elegant posture: "Sir, please ask. Wanwan will tell you everything I know." She stepped aside and motioned Mo Ya to come in. She walked to the piano table, but did not sit down. She just stood there quietly, like a wisteria in the rain, weak and pitiful.
Mo Ya did not enter, but just stood at the door, his eyes like cold probes, scanning every corner of the room.
"Did you hear about the attack on the canal ship three days ago? Master Su, have you heard about it?"
Su Wanwan frowned slightly, revealing a hint of just the right amount of shock and fear: "Such a horrific thing, the whole city is in an uproar, how could I not know about it? I heard that many people died, even... even the imperial envoy almost suffered an accident. Wanwan hasn't dared to go out these days, and only burned incense and prayed in the garden, hoping that the deceased rest in peace and the living are safe." As she spoke, she clasped her hands together and bowed devoutly towards the direction of the misty canal outside the window.
"Mr. Su rarely goes out, but he's well-informed." Mo Ya's voice was emotionless. "I wonder where Mr. Su was three days ago... that is, on the morning of the incident? Is there any witness?"
"Master, are you... suspecting Wanwan?" Su Wanwan raised her eyelids, which instantly filled with tears, a trace of grievance and disbelief at being wronged, yet she forced herself to endure it. "That day...that day, Wanwan caught a cold and had a severe headache. She has been resting here in Tengluoju and has not stepped out of the door. The mother in the garden and the maid Xiaocui can both testify to this. If you don't believe me..." She bit her lower lip, her eyes moistening even more, and she was about to cry, "You can summon them to ask."
There was no fluctuation on Mo Ya's rigid face, but his eyes were like a hawk, fixed on every subtle expression and movement of Su Wanwan.
"Cold?" He stepped forward, entering the room, and a more distinct scent of wisteria greeted him. His gaze fell sharply on Su Wanwan's fair, slender wrists. "Master Su's hands are well-maintained, her fingers delicate and impeccable. But..." He changed the subject, "I wonder what flowers Master Su used to create this wisteria fragrance? It's elegant and unique, unlike anything you can find on the market."
Deep within Su Wanwan's eyes, a tiny ripple spread instantly, almost too fast to be detected. She lowered her eyelids, her long eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings, masking the emotion within. Her voice remained gentle, "Sir, you have a keen nose. This fragrance... Wanwan made it herself, using an ancient recipe, when she had some free time. The flowers are from the old wisteria in the backyard of the garden, with some soothing albizzia and lilies added. It's nothing special." As she spoke, she subconsciously tucked her hands into her wide sleeves.
"Oh? Homemade?" Mo Ya's gaze swept across the wisteria picture on the wall, and then fell back on Su Wanwan, "Master Su is not only an unparalleled musician, but is also proficient in the art of incense. I wonder... if you recognize this thing?" Before he finished speaking, his right hand, which had been hanging by his side, suddenly raised up, and a black light shot straight into Su Wanwan's face like a poisonous snake spitting out its tongue!
It turned out to be half of a burnt and twisted metal tube - the remains of the Beidi "bee whistle" intercepted on the canal!
This time, something unexpected happened! As fast as lightning! At a tricky angle! Go straight to the vital point!
Su Wanwan's pupils suddenly constricted! Her gentle, delicate demeanor vanished in an instant! An aura as sharp as an icy blade suddenly erupted from her! Her hands, tucked into her sleeves, shot out with lightning speed. Her left hand, like a butterfly darting through flowers, met the incoming black light with precision, her fingers spread wide, as if ready to block it with her bare palm! Simultaneously, her right shoulder sank slightly, her footwork shifted mysteriously, and her entire body slid backward like a willow in the wind, attempting to dissipate the force and dodge!
Her movements were incredibly fast! It was definitely not something an ordinary weak woman could do!
However, just as her left hand was about to touch the wreckage—
"call out!"
A black light, faster, sharper, and more silent than the black crow's movement, shot out from the shadows outside the door behind the black crow like a sigh from the underworld!
"bite!"
An extremely slight sound of metal clashing was heard!
The fragment of the "buzzing whistle" shot by Mo Ya was unexpectedly knocked away by the black light that arrived later. With a "snap", it was nailed to the rosewood zither table next to it! It penetrated deeply into the wood! The tail end was still trembling!
The black light that saved the situation was a steel needle as thin as an ox hair, shining with a cold blue light! At this moment, it was also nailed diagonally to the edge of the piano table, and the end of the needle was still buzzing!
Su Wanwan's retreating figure froze instantly! Her outstretched left hand froze in mid-air, her fingertips mere inches from the wreckage! She suddenly looked up, and for the first time, her clear eyes revealed an unconcealable horror and disbelief as she stared fixedly at the shadows at the door!
Mo Ya also slowly withdrew his right hand. There was no surprise on his stern face, but his eyes were as cold as a knife.
Gu Linzhi slowly emerged from the shadows of the doorway. The hem of his dark uniform brushed the threshold silently. He toyed with a similarly deep blue steel needle in his hand, his deep eyes, like a cold pond, meeting Su Wanwan's horrified gaze with a calm, unwavering gaze.
"Master Su's reaction," Gu Linzhi's voice was low and echoed in the elegant pavilion filled with the fragrance of wisteria, with a chilling feeling that froze everything, "is better than your piano playing..."
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